


July Blooms

by LadyKeane



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Cheesy flower allegories, Daring rescue, Love at First Sight, M/M, Robbie is such a diva tho, kids being kids, nature is pretty and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKeane/pseuds/LadyKeane
Summary: On their first weekend after moving to Lazytown, Stephanie and Sportacus get a tour of the town - including Lazy Park, where a tall dark grumpy stranger is out on an errand...





	

“The park? Why would we want to show Sportacus and Stephanie a boring bunch of green stuff?”  
“You’re only saying that because you want to drag them all around your father’s stupid bank.”  
“It’s not stupid! And it’s MY bank, anyway.”  
Stephanie looked from one combatant to the other, a frown slightly crinkling her forehead.  
“I thought you said you were all friends,” she murmured to Pixel.  
The boy responded with a warm, reassuring smile, and Stephanie felt herself ease up a little. “Aw, Stingy and Trixie bicker all the time. I think it’s their way of showing that they like each other.”  
“Why on earth would you fight with someone that you like?” She pondered.  
Pixel shrugged, before turning to the two of them with a hint of mischief in his expression. “Maybe it’s ‘cuz the course of TRUE LOVE never ran smooth!”  
Forgetting their animosity towards each other, Trixie and Stingy glared as one at their red-haired companion.  
“He’s NOT my boyfriend!”  
“And she’s not my GIRLFRIEND! She’s just MINE.”  
Ziggy looked up from his lollipop long enough to giggle. “Trixie and Stingy, sitting in a tree…”

  
Stephanie took a tentative step away from the group, if only to retreat from the sheer volume of her friends’ exclamations. It was a warm Sunday morning, and the Mayor had offered to show the newcomers Sportacus and Stephanie around the streets of their new home. The children had all noisily voulenteered to tag along, eager to show off their own little corners of the town.  
Stephanie had been in Lazytown for barely a week, and was still acclimatising to everything around her. She definitely liked her new friends as individuals, full of their own unique charms, and yet… the chemistry between them was a tad overwhelming. The little girl was hardly used to having so many other peers surrounding her— there had not been many other children to play with back in the city. Making new friends, especially collectively, could be a scary business.  
“Hey guys, watch this!”  
All heads turned to Sportacus. The hero had leapt upon one of the many low stucco walls that hugged the sidewalks, perched as dexterously as any tomcat. After flashing a brief smile, he launched into an elaborate series of backflips that rendered the entire group awestruck. The children forsook their squabbling to fall back in unified admiration.  
Stephanie was intrigued. It could have been that this was Sportacus’ way of diffusing a tense situation, but it seemed much more in keeping with his temperament that this display had been made on a random whim. How very like a hero to have an attitude that flew with the birds, far above the mundane social wranglings of his companions that lived on the ground. Cheerful as he was, he was also otherworldly, almost aloof.  
“Alright now, come this way, children.”

  
Mayor Meanswell finally decided he’d had enough of this skylarking, and pushed the little tour group onward. Soon they arrived, as he had declared, at Lazy Park.  
A tranquil green space, Lazy Park had long been a well-kept corner of the town. Even during the bleak days after #9’s retirement, when most of the public places had fallen into disrepair, this garden was still a source of civic pride. Perhaps it had not escaped completely unscathed— its gazebos had become a little more rustic than intended, and some patches of ivy had grown out of control— but the park’s overall character was one of quirky beauty and provincial charm. Much like the town’s citizens themselves.  
“Yes, much of this park was the creation of Melissa Meanswell, the famed horticultralist and, ahem, my own grandmother.”  
The Mayor’s local history lecture went unheeded. Sportacus and the children promptly scattered to cavort upon the soft springy grass.  
“This is amazing, don’t you think?... Sportacus?”  
The man in blue was occupied with an impromptu succession of somersaults. “Sorry, Stephanie, what was that?”  
“This park,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “Isn’t it beautiful?”  
He flashed that all-too-white grin again. “Sure, it’s awesome.”  
Her eyes wandered about the foliage as she searched for something else to say.   
“Hey Stephanie?”  
“Yeah?”  
“TRY AND CATCH ME!”

  
A small spray of soil was kicked up as he darted off, further into the park. Musing that she felt a little like Alice chasing the white rabbit, Stephanie willingly joined in the game.  
When at long last she caught up with him, panting and winded, she found him in a startlingly different frame of mind. Standing on one of the winding garden pathways, his gaze was set upon a large bush which was bursting with vibrant blossoms. What was it about the plant that had captured his flighty attention so? As she began to sneak up behind him, planning a surprise attack, this question was answered for her. Not only did the warm, honeyed fragrance of the flowers hit her nostrils, but she also realised that this bush was an uncommon burst of colour in the uniformly green surroundings. It was currently midsummer— most of the blossoms in Lazytown had grown withered and pale. By contrast, these flowers were full, bright and young, just hitting the peak of their growth. Their brilliant colour— a rich, exquisite purple— stood out like a jewel embedded in a crown of greenery. A further string of these bushes continued down the twisting pathway.

  
“The Lazytown Lilac. Our town emblem,” came the comfortable voice of her uncle behind the two. “I remember seeing the smile on Granny’s face when she first bred it successfully. She happened upon a mutation which gave the regular pale lilacs that lovely deep colour. The problem was getting them to bloom properly. They were stubborn little things that simply refused to grow and bud with the other lilac bushes. Then Granny got the idea of sowing them in the Spring, when the ground is warming up, as opposed to the chill of Autumn. She planted them in full sun, deep in the soil, giving them as much warmth and protection as she could. With regular watering, a little patience and a lot of love, the saplings slowly reached up towards the sky. That July, she was rewarded with the most superb blooms that anyone had ever seen.”  
Stephanie delicately picked a bunch of the flowers off one branch. “They smell a little like sugar,” she remarked.  
“Oh, you won’t believe how popular they are with the bees. It has been said that for a blossom so sweet, they hold quite a nasty sting. Well, a bee sting, really.”  
The girl giggled at this, as Sportacus began to roam further along the path, following the row of lilac bushes.  
“They’re planted all along here?” He asked absently.  
“That’s right,” the Mayor replied, “all the way up to the Japanese ornamental garden, across the old wooden bridge. That section of the park has become a bit run-down in the past few years, I wouldn’t go down that way if I were you.”

  
But Sportacus’ wandering interest had noticed something stirring in this offending section of the park. Somebody was marching through the overgrown sprawl of the neglected ornamental garden, carrying with them a huge, teetering pile of shopping.  
A warm tingle in his chest told him his crystal was about to awaken and sing.  
  
**  
  
Robbie Rotten was ablaze with determination. As the delinquent genius had sat holed up in his lair that week, nursing a collection of injuries (mostly to his pride— although he had liberally enveloped himself in bandages, the doctor insisted that a single sprained ankle wasn’t much cause for concern), he had begun concocting his plan for vengeance on that infernal blue sports hero. It had been bad enough that he’d come to town at all, disturbing the gloomy peace that had settled upon the place like a well-fitting shroud. But what truly infuriated Robbie was that Sportacus had refused to acknowledge the man as his nemesis. During their one brief altercation, he hadn’t even noticed that Robbie was there at all. Okay, perhaps that had been because he had spent most of the day hiding behind walls and tree trunks, but who had Sportakook _thought_ set up that trap? Those idiot children? Well, the man vowed, by the time he got through with him, the great bloody jumping bean would not soon forget the name of Mister Robert Rotten, Esquire.  
All _Robbie_ wished he could forget was the perfect glint of that smile.   
This would have all been so much easier had Old Man #9 been the one to come to town.

  
His ankle had finally healed, and none too soon— the larder in his lair had grown woefully empty during his recovery. Before beginning work on his plan to banish Sportacus, Robbie ventured out into the town, eager for the pleasure of a visit to the local bakery. He dreamily lingered over the aromatic, colourful array of pastries, pies and cakes, the shop’s manager happy to indulge the delectations of her best customer. After selecting an ample assortment of goodies, he bade the good woman farewell and stepped out into the warm morning air. His spirits lifted, he decided to head home via the scenic, meandering pathways of Lazy Park.  
The South end was his favourite area. It was the section that had suffered the most dilapidation, and was therefore usually avoided by the townspeople. Overgrowing maple trees sliced the sunlight into frail ribbons, and small animals like lizards and squirrels darted about freely in the undisturbed vegetation. The long-forgotten Japanese garden was delightfully unkempt: its once ordered serenity was reclaimed by the chaos of Mother Nature, and its lacquered wooden gateways were slowly rotting. Robbie drank in the feral atmosphere of this solitary space, feeling quite contented as he shuffled along with his great swag of paper packages and cake-boxes.  
As he placed a trusting, unsuspecting foot upon the garden’s ramshackle wooden bridge, he heard an ominous creak.  
His usual nervous energy swiftly returning to him, he tried to grapple for a foothold all too late.  
  
**  
  
The stream below was a shallow trickle, but the fall from the bridge would be enough to do someone real harm.  
Sportacus rocketed up the pathway and leapt down onto the damp riverbed. This strange, tall man in purple was going to fall onto the uneven rocks that lined the bank—a fate much worse than splashing into the rivulet of water. Muscles burning with exertion, the hero leapt out as far as he could.  
One pale, desperately flailing hand latched onto an overhanging lilac bush. The flimsy branches would not halt his descent for more than a brief moment, but thankfully, that moment provided enough time for Sportacus to close the gap and reach the stranger.  
The snapping of a young, green branch set a flurry of lilac petals flying, and a pair of arms closed around the frantic creature.  
Had he been concussed? Sportacus looked down at the man in his arms, who was obviously in some sort of a daze from the very sudden shock. The dappled sunlight from above flickered in an unfocused pair of grey-green eyes. His slim, awkward form rested limply in the hero’s strong grip. He felt almost weightless.  
Robbie’s mind slowly began to gather his scattered wits. Alright… he had tripped, the bridge had given way, and he had fallen. This much he understood.  
Currently, his senses were arrested by an overwhelming scent of trampled plant life and perspiration. Gravity was behaving strangely. Something firm and constricting braced his shoulders and back, and…   
His vision locked onto a pair of inconceivably blue eyes gazing down at him.  
Now, Robbie noticed the racing pulse of another heartbeat.

  
“SPORTAKOOK!?”  
The hero frowned. “Pardon me?”  
The man found his feet, shoved Sportacus away, and straightened up to his full height—he was easily the tallest of the two. Using this advatange, he cast an imperious glare down at his saviour. “Did I ASK you to rescue me?” He snarled.  
Sportacus didn’t quite know how to respond. How had those thin, pale features so suddenly morphed into such a vicious, unfriendly face?  
“I don’t need your swishy show-pony theatrics, I could have saved myself…” the man’s voice trailed off as he noticed the uneven ring of splattered cakes surrounding him on the ground, already being picked at by a few of the bolder ducks and squirrels.  
“Oh, FANTASTIC.”  
“Um, sorry…” Given how angry the man seemed, Sportacus felt he should apologise for _something_.  
He made to stalk his way back up the riverbank, until the hero finally found his voice again.  
“Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name.”  
The stranger turned around, aiming that glare down at Sportacus again. His grey-green eyes had grown darker, through a small voice in Sportacus’ mind noted that they were no less remarkable.  
“That’s Robbie Rotten,” came Stephanie’s voice from the other side of the bank.  
“Yeah! And he’s a meanie!”  
“And a poo-head!”  
“Now, now, children, it’s not nice to call people names,” the Mayor scolded. The group had obviously reformed, looking to collect Sportacus so they could move onto the next venue.  
Robbie Rotten cursed at them all before climbing the bank and stomping away along the footpath.

  
“He’s…” Sportacus began, once Robbie was well out of earshot.  
“Peculiar, yes,” the Mayor finished. “And a bit of a handful. When we first contacted you, I felt he was going to be one of the elements of this town that would need your attention.”  
Sportacus’ eyes drifted back to the spot where Robbie had stood, now empty but for a sprinkling of crushed lilacs.  
“Now come ON, guys, let’s get going. I wanna show Stephanie and Sportacus my bank.”  
“For the last time, Stingy, it’s NOT yours!”  
The little tour group slowly trailed back out onto the bustle of the street.


End file.
